


“If This Were A Military Situation…"

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: You become [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Execution, Friendship, Gen, s02e09 Singularity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: S209: Singularity: Lieutenant Reed to Commander Tucker: “If this were a military situation, you’d be taken out and shot.”





	“If This Were A Military Situation…"

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for dark themes: mind the rating and tags!

The Head of Security found him in the Mess Hall. It was deserted that late at night, save from the lone figure slumped over a PADD and a glass of milk. There was an empty plate with crumbs on the table, some of which were scattered on the man’s uniform. Suppressing the urge to curl his lip at the pathetic excuse for an officer, Lieutenant Reed advanced with his usual blank expression. Slovenly, reckless, uncultured swine; his target wouldn’t be smirching the honour of Starfleet for much longer. With effort, Reed controlled his disgust with the promise of the satisfaction he’d feel in fulfilling his own duty. He heard the door swishing shut behind him and his men. His prey looked up and saw him.

“Hey Malcolm, what are you-”

“I am here in an official capacity.” The engineer sat up even more, eyeing the armoury personnel behind the Lieutenant. The Armoury Officer continued matter-of-factly. “Your conduct is unbecoming of an officer serving on this ship. Your many offences include: lack of personal hygiene,” the accused wiped his mouth self-consciously, “inappropriate address of senior officers, frequent indecency in public spaces, engaging in sexual relations whilst on duty-”

“Hey!” The oaf interrupted. “I never-”

“Silence!” The Lieutenant barked. The accused shut his mouth abruptly, eyes narrowing as his stupid mind tried to work out what was happening. “You also show general conduct unbefitting an officer. For all these infractions, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

The idiot just stared at him, speechless. The Lieutenant gestured to the door with his head.

“Now, come with me.” There was a moment of more gormless staring before the engineer huffed tiredly, irritation edging into his tone.

“Malcolm, I’m not in the mood for a practical joke right n-” Quick and sharp as a whip, the Lieutenant interrupted.

“That was not a request.” His men advanced a step to draw level with him. He tilted his head to stop them from going further, watching the man in front of him. It was clear that he wasn’t being believed. Unable to decide if this was more or less satisfying than being taken at face value, the Officer took out his PADD and slid it across the table to the accused. He was given a long look, before the man took it and started reading. Slowly, realisation dawned and coloured drained from his face.

“This real? They really said…?” The Lieutenant didn’t bother to react, his dignified silence answer enough. Confusion twisted up with indignation and disbelief as the offender protested. “You can’t do this!” Suppressing his irritation at having to explain protocols to this supposedly senior officer, the Lieutenant all but snapped.

“In my capacity as Head of Security, I have the necessary authority to execute any disciplinary action as I see fit.” He indicated to the forgotten PADD. “As you can see.” The man leapt up from the table, looking as if he might bolt. The Officer decided to be blunt about reminding the tarnish on all their honour about his demotion. “This is very real, crewman.” Satisfied that his forethought to bring other personnel with him paid off, the Lieutenant nodded and the men caught him, gripping his arms as he struggled and shouted.

“Where’s the Cap’n? I want to talk to him!” Now allowing himself a small sneer, the Security Officer drawled in a superior tone.

“Your ‘friendship’ with the _Captain_ won’t help you now. Your behaviour has gone too far. Those orders come right from the top.” He savoured the moment, watching the man twisting and squirming against his captors, before ordering. “Take him.” His men forced the crewman out of the mess and out into the corridor. The Armoury Officer followed them, arms behind his back, heart pumping in anticipation. The prisoner stumbled a few times, still futilely trying to yank away from his captors. Reed had never been prouder of how his men didn’t even blink, simply dragging the disgrace to their destination with ease. The man was also shouting in that harsh bray of his, another aspect of him that the Armoury Officer couldn’t wait to be rid of. The amount of times he’d wanted to gag that loud mouth, slap that stupid face…

Finally, they reached the airlock. The Lieutenant opened the inner door and his men thrust the engineer in. He grunted as he hit the floor, before scrambling up, eyes wide and panicked as a cornered hare. Stalking in like a steely-eyed hawk, the Lieutenant calmly drew out his pistol.

“Any last words?” The engineer stared at him desperately, mouth working silently. Then he whispered.

“Malcolm, please.” After a pause, the Lieutenant nodded primly and raised his pistol, aiming at the man’s head.

“Turn around, then.” The pathetic creature’s eyes began to shine as he searched his executioner’s face, looking for an escape. He looked like he might speak again. But then the bright eyes trained on his face flickered to the pistol and the hope died. It didn’t take long for him to accept his fate. Straightening to attention, jaw clenching, he slowly turned to face the outer hatch.

It was a mercy. He wouldn’t feel a thing. Calmly, the Lieutenant squeezed the trigger and smirked as Trip crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

“No!”

Malcolm shot up, panting heavily. Darkness enclosed him, so much so he thought for a moment that he’d gone blind. But then his eyes adjusted to the emergency lighting in his room. He looked down at his hand, seeing that it was empty but still feeling the phantom weight of the phase pistol. His heart was beating rapidly, he could feel his pulse in his neck, sweat drying all over his face and upper body. Gasping, he pushed off the tangled sheets and stumbled to the head. Gripping the sides of the sink tightly, he tried to absorb the chill and push through the harsh pounding in his head. The Doctor had said that the headaches would subside with time. He desperately thought to himself:

_It was just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream_. He shivered. He could still feel the cool dispassion as he’d sentenced his friend to death. The pleasure as he’d killed him. Shaken, he pulled out a glass and took a drink of water. Carefully making sure his hands were steady before putting the glass to his mouth, he drank deeply. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, he went back to the bedroom. He looked at the chronometer. 0130. Well, he’d managed a few hours of sleep then. He lay back down on the bed, mind still racing, reliving all the worst bits. How he’d felt superior to his friend. How he’d been enraged by minor annoyances he actually remembered thinking about his superior officer in real life. How he’d relished the idea of never hearing that warm voice again. He shivered.

He truly was his father’s son.

He’d tried so hard to prevent it, but it had happened anyway.

Giving up on sleep, he got up and left his quarters, marching along without a plan. Without meaning to, he ended up outside the Mess Hall. When he realised where he was, Malcolm hesitated. He didn’t want to go in, nausea congealing in his stomach at the thought, at the images lingering in his mind. But then again, if he stopped going to places that had featured in his nightmares, he’d fast be out of places to go. Taking a deep breath, he entered. To his eternal relief, it was empty. Then his relief turned to worry. He did want to see his friend, make sure he was really still alive. It was a foolish, childlike desire, but he couldn’t shake it. He retreated back to his quarters, thinking to grab his gym clothes so he could wear himself out. He turned the corner and saw a lone figure standing aimlessly in the corridor.

It was Trip. He didn’t appear to have noticed Malcolm, apparently staring at the door of his own quarters. Malcolm approached cautiously.

“Trip?” Starting, Trip turned towards him.

“Oh hey, Malcolm.” His voice was rough and tired and his expression was pained. Obviously he also had a roaring headache and trouble sleeping. Though probably not for the same reasons, Malcolm thought darkly.

“Evening.” He managed. The tendrils of his nightmare still shadowing his vision. He drew level with Trip and stopped, now seeing that Trip was swaying minutely with fatigue. “You look done in*.” Malcolm said without thinking. And then flinched. Luckily his friend didn’t seem to notice; he just agreed absently.

“Yeah.” Gripped by the desire not to be alone and to reassure himself that his friend was really alive and well, Malcolm awkwardly indicated to his quarters.

“Night cap?” For a moment, Trip looked like he’d defer. But then he snorted and shrugged.

“Why the hell not? Beats staring at the ceiling all night.” They retired to Malcolm’s cabin. Trip slumped into the desk chair as Malcolm fetched two glasses and a good luck present from his Aunt. Trip saw the bottle of scotch and slurred tiredly.

“Thought you didn’t drink?” Malcolm half-smiled at the memory of that conversation, bittersweet as it was. He broke the seal and poured out a generous measure each.

“Ah, I don’t drink _on duty_.” Accepting his glass and clinking it to Malcolm’s, Trip laughed softly. Neither mentioned a toast as they sipped at the drink, but both grimaced through the burn. Malcolm sunk down on his bed, trying not to be disturbed by the unusually subdued engineer. Whilst he was not one to say things for the sake of talking, and he didn’t think much of it when others did, Malcolm wished that Trip would say something, a joke, an observation, an insult, anything. Instead his friend held the glass loosely in his hand, gaze distant and brow furrowed. Desperately, Malcolm blurted without meaning to.

“I could have gotten everyone killed.” Once again pulled from his thoughts, Trip looked over and his face smoothed out as he said confidently.

“I heard the opposite was true. According to the Captain your modifications saved the ship, we might be a cloud of dust right now if the weapons hadn’t come on line.” Malcolm grumbled, thinking of an argument against that when Trip continued bitterly, looking into his half-empty glass. “And what did I do? Obsess about giving the Captain’s chair a cup holder. Useless piece of…!” Malcolm interrupted sternly.

“You had no control over your actions.” Trip snapped back.

“And you did?” He raised an eyebrow when Malcolm opened his mouth to protest so reluctantly, the Armoury Officer closed it again. He was feeling warmer, a combination of the drink and the confidence his friend had in him. The cold terror of his nightmare was loosening its hold.

“That may be true, but I can’t help but feel that how I reacted says a lot about me.” To his vague dismay he found himself rambling. “I know people joke about how much of a stickler for regs I am.” He imitated a mid-20th century upper class accent. “Very prim and proper.” He sighed, speaking normally again. “And it’s true…I don’t know, just…It’s not encouraging to see how far that goes...”

“That’s not how I see you.” Blinking away some of the fog in his eyes, Trip licked his lips and said with the utmost sincerity. “You only care about regs as much as they keep people safe. Making sure we’re as prepared as possible is part of that. I know I feel a hell of a lot safer with you here, looking out for us. You’re not some protocol-obsessed guy to me, you’re a good friend.” In the dim light of the room, exhausted and becoming numb to his pain through the drink, Malcolm simply accepted this high esteem without protest. Holding on to consciousness out of a friend’s duty he slurred.

“And you’re not useless. You’re a builder, a designer, an engineer. You’re constantly improving things, for the benefit of all of us. I think your legacy to space exploration will just be as important as Enterprise’s.” Trip closed his eyes and smiled softly.

“N’aww, I forgot you get all mushy after a few drinks.” Malcolm smiled back. There, there was what he’d been missing. Weakly, he raised his glass.

“I told you, I’ve spent too much time puzzling you out,” he took a swallow, barely wincing this time, “I can’t stop now, I’ve committed.” This time managing a breathy laugh, Trip raised his glass as well.

“To being stuck with each other.” He finished the rest of the drink in one swallow and staggered to his feet. Malcolm winched himself up and helped his friend navigate to the door, asking.

“Awright t’ get back?” Trip muttered sleepily.

“Just about, Malcolm, just about.” Malcolm watched him leave and then tumbled into bed, falling asleep with a gentle smile.

**Author's Note:**

> *to 'look done in' = to 'look exhausted'; to 'do someone in' = to 'kill someone'. In case you were wondering about Malcolm's reaction here.


End file.
